


Negotiations

by TheGreatLibraryFangirl (Mazeem)



Series: Kink and Bone [7]
Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Anit is a brat but a distinctly overwhelmed one here, BDSM checklist, Demisexuality, Domme Khalila, F/F, F/M, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Spanking, This is like 6 years in the future everyone is well overage, background Anit/Dario and Jess/Dario mentioned, gateway to my Kink and Bone verse, sub Dario
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 08:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19331290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazeem/pseuds/TheGreatLibraryFangirl
Summary: Many years after the events of the series, Red Ibrahim's daughter Anit takes the plunge and gets involved with Khalila Seif, the phenomenal woman she's had a crush on for ... probably most of that intervening time.It's supposed to be a calm, reasonable discussion of their shared kinky tastes.It's not.Now her trousers need a wash, for Ra's sake.





	Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so, time for me to be nervous and chuck my kink out in the world for those outside of tumblr to see! 
> 
> This is both my first play around with my new crack ship, Khalila/Anit, and a gateway into what I call my Kink and Bone verse which involves Khalila and Dario having a steadily growing Domme/sub relationship. There's a lot of this I want to share, and this seemed a good starting point. 
> 
> Hopefully it's an enjoyable read in its own right, too.

The Alexandrian sunset lent a soft orange glow to every surface of Khalila’s office. 

It didn’t help Anit’s nerves. If anything, it made her feel even hotter.

“This isn’t what I expected,” she said, looking at Khalila across the desk. 

Khalila smiled. “What, you thought we’d be wearing fewer clothes?” She looked just as attractive and fresh as ever in a sky-blue headscarf, white blouse and loose dark blue trousers.

“I feel like I’m here on business,” Anit said. _ And underdressed for it. _ She’d come in tight leather trousers with a slender iron chain as the belt and a low-cut black top, and now she was feeling self-conscious. Not even in a good way; Khalila’s eyes had only flickered downwards once.

“It might help to conceptualise it like that.” Khalila fiddled with a pen. “Did Dario send you the list to fill out?”

Anit frowned. “Yes. I sent that back two days ago.”

The flustered look that crossed Khalila’s face was a relief. It was an unguarded expression, and it meant that Anit wasn’t actually dealing with Khalila in work mode right now. 

“I’ll just check if he sent me it …” She flipped through her Codex.

Anit folded her arms. She’d spent a good few hours filling in the stupid checklist. “Nice to know you’ve thought about this.” 

Khalila’s head whipped up. “I have!” She looked alarmed, and grabbed Anit’s hand. “Believe me. I’ve been thinking about this.”

Anit’s hand felt like it might be on fire. In a good way. Probably. Her tongue had suddenly turned into a useless lump in her mouth, and she fought with it for a second.

“Well. All right, then.”

The awkwardness was broken by a rap at the door. Khalila got up and opened the door. 

“Did you send me –“

“Yes, I did, flower.” Dario’s tone was long-suffering. “I recopied it out onto paper. Along with a cross-reference to your most recent list. Third drawer on the left of your desk.”

“Why is it there?” Khalila sounded flustered again. 

“Because that drawer has three different locks on it. I did tell you this, at least twice.”

Anit had kept her gaze carefully, politely forwards the whole time, but Khalila swept back into view now, kneeling down and paying attention to, presumably, the relevant drawer. 

Anit’s smuggler brain had already stored away the existence of the tempting thrice-locked container, and although most of her was just touched at the trust, the remnant was already mentally trying to pick it. 

Three different locks. Did that just mean three locks, or did it mean three different types of locks? Her bet was on metal, then something linked to Khalila and Dario’s bands, then an Obscurist ward of some kind. Hm. 

She was distracted from her possibly treasonous thoughts by Dario coming into view too.

“Evening, smuggler trash,” he said cheerfully. He too was wearing leather trousers, though his looked, of course, far more expensive, and a white waistcoat over a red shirt. He looked delectable as usual.

“This is afternoon to me, princeling.” She hoped that this was banter and that he hadn’t somehow guessed her thoughts about the mysterious drawer. 

“Anit, Jess is not a good model for dealing with Dario,” Khalila muttered, her brow furrowed and her attention mostly elsewhere. 

Anit wasn’t sure if that referred to generally playing around with Dario’s insults, or ‘princeling’. Which, yes, she had picked up from Jess. 

The look Dario was giving her was much more like what she’d been hoping to evoke from Khalila; a long, hot stare from top to bottom and back again to linger at her tits most satisfyingly. She leaned her chin on her folded hands and returned the look with interest. 

“Darling, do exercise a modicum of self-control.” Khalila’s voice was still distracted. Anit  _ really _ wanted a look at that drawer that was causing Khalila trouble.

Dario grinned a little apologetically and carefully focused on Anit’s face instead. 

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I don’t mind at all.” Anit winked at Dario. 

“He knows what he’s not supposed to do.” Khalila finally stood up, a few sheets of paper clutched in one hand. 

Anit laughed. “Dario? Do what he’s told?” Provocative, deliberately so. 

Something shifted in Khalila’s eyes and her posture. She clicked her fingers and pointed at the floor next to her with two fingers. 

Dario folded gracefully to his knees, tilted his face towards the floor and put his hands behind his back. 

“Do you do what you’re told, darling?”

“To the best of my ability, my lady.” Dario shut his eyes when Khalila put her hand on his head. 

Anit could barely breathe.Which was stupid, really. She’d known, intellectually, about those two. Everyone knew something about these two. She’d spoken to Dario about it, for Ra’s sake. It was why she was _ here _ .

She’d wondered what would happen if she dug into it, and there it was, displayed before her only minutes into this ridiculous situation. Dario, instantly transformed from a cocksure, roguish cad to an apparent paragon of deference. 

He was relaxed, Anit saw, eyeing his shoulders. Like he was exactly where he should be.

It made her ache inside. She didn’t want exactly what was before her, she knew, but oh, it was a sight to see.

“The first rule, then, if you can call it a rule.” Khalila’s voice was like a magnet; Anit wanted to stare at Dario on his knees but Khalila called her attention irresistibly. “Dario is mine. I am his. That means specific things to us.”

“But …” Anit didn’t quite know how to put her protestations into words, but she tried anyway. “Why is looking an issue, when he …”

And then her words failed her as her brain helpfully presented her with the images of the inciting event which had ended up with her sitting here; when she, Dario and Jess had got drunk and ended up playing strip chess, and it had quickly become apparent that his marriage to Khalila was not the only sexual element in his life.

Then she’d asked around a bit and that had been fairly fruitless until she’d asked the High Garda. And. Well. 

“Why is looking an issue when I’m a slut, is essentially the question you’re after. Don’t be scared to ask questions.” Dario’s dark eyes danced with glee.

“I didn’t say that,” she protested, looking back at Khalila. 

“Don’t worry. He likes using that word for himself.” Khalila rolled her eyes and dragged her fingers through his hair. Dario grinned. “He can do what he wants on his own, as long as he stays safe and tells me everything afterwards.”

Anit’s heart skipped a beat. It must have shown on her face, because now Khalila’s gleeful look nearly matched her husband’s.

“So yes. I know you and Dario have done more than just talk about this.” Something shifted in her posture again. “What you and he do is entirely up to you. But if he and I are in the same place, your access to him, and his access to you, comes through me. Only me. Are we clear?”

Anit swallowed. “I hadn’t thought. I’d never.” She stopped herself helplessly blabbering, and just said, “Yes. We’re clear.” 

Khalila nodded, and the metaphorical sun came out again in the office as she smiled. The real sun was nearly set, and the orange glow had mostly faded but Anit was now boiling with embarrassment and arousal.

“Now.” Khalila sat down and shuffled the papers. “Let’s take a look at this.” 

If Anit hadn’t been watching them both like a hawk, she’d have missed the ensuing exchange; Khalila’s bent finger and jerk of her chin, and Dario’s answering tiny shake of his head. But there was no missing the follow-up of Dario shuffling closer to Khalila, of Khalila touching his cheek and murmuring something in a language Anit didn’t speak. 

Khalila met her gaze. 

Anit felt her face flushing hot. She was peeping now. Intruding. 

But there was nothing accusatory or embarrassed in Khalila’s face. She just smiled and tucked Dario’s head against her thigh and said,

“We’ve not seen each other properly for a few days.” No apology. Just a simple statement of fact.

_ Oh, is that what you call it? _ cackled a small hysterical part of Anit’s mind. She wrestled that part under control and nodded sharply. 

“So. Paperwork.” Her voice was a touch higher than normal and her entire face was prickling. 

Khalila tilted her head. “You’re uncomfortable.” She grabbed Anit’s hand again. “I’m sorry. Jess does always say we go too fast.” Her beautiful brown eyes were warm and soft and sad and Anit wanted to drown in them right fucking now. “Dario, stand up.”

_ Get a grip _ , Anit scolded herself. “No, it’s fine. Really, it’s fine, it was just a surprise. Keep him there, if you want.”

That repeated in her head, and she wanted to melt into the carpet and disappear. That had sounded like she was giving Khalila  _ permission. _

“I will.” Khalila squeezed her hand, seeming not to notice or to care about Anit presumptuous phrasing. “I’m sorry. I feel like I started this off badly. Darling.” She nudged Dario. “Go and get us all a drink while I read through this.” She gestured to the papers strewn in front of her. 

Dario stood up and looked at Anit. “Want to come?”

“Good idea.” Khalila said, and looked straight back down to the paperwork. Like they were dismissed.

That pissed Anit off, just a bit, so she screeched her chair back deliberately. 

“Sorry about Khalila,” was the first thing Dario said to her as they walked shoulder to shoulder down the corridor. “She’s really nervous.”

That stopped Anit in her tracks, to the point where she nearly lost her footing. “Her? Nervous?”

“So nervous.” Dario laughed to himself. “Do you think she normally puts me on my knees in front of company? She’s about one more uncertain moment away from kicking you out and pinning me to the floor until she feels in control again.” He licked his lips, then turned to face Anit. His gaze flickered to her cleavage again, which bolstered her confidence. “She’s not like me. She’s very, very picky about who she’ll play with.”

He left her with that thought, and she turned it over in her mind as they walked to the water fountain. 

When they went back into the office - Dario had left the door on the latch; Anit was relieved to see the privacy sign already set up - Khalila was wrestling with the large bulky office chair Anit had previously been sat in.

“Swapping chairs?” Dario asked, moving towards her just enough to make himself clearly available. 

"Yes. Get me the small one from the window please. Do you need a chair?" she asked.

He shook his head as he crossed the room to grab the padded chair Khalila had indicated. "I'll go back down, if that's all right."

"Always." Khalila waved Anit over as Dario settle the new chair in its place and manoeuvered the other one out of the way. "I thought this might be more comfortable."

Now that Dario had flat-out told her about it, she could hear the nerves in Khalila’s voice. It was reassuring.

"Thank you," she said, as she settled into the definitely more comfortable chair. "Thank you for ... agreeing to all this, I suppose."

Khalila raised one eyebrow and nudged Dario, who was in the middle of kneeling back down next to her. "What nonsense has he been feeding you?"

"Nothing," they both said in unison. 

"Hm. Well. It's not a chore." She beamed suddenly. "It's exciting, really, isn't it?"

Anit couldn't help but smile and nod in response.

Going through the paperwork was another fine lesson in how hot Anit's entire body could get with embarrassment and arousal without spontaneously combusting. 

She wasn't shy, and she wasn't inexperienced, thank you, but hearing prim and proper Khalila, of all people, say things like 'anal plug', ‘schoolgirl roleplay’ and 'ball gag’ out loud was a mind-blowing experience all by itself. 

As he'd said, Dario had recopied her list and marked where her and Khalila's interests and willingnesses matched. It sped the process up considerably.

* * *

 

“Yes to nudity,” Khalila mumbled aloud. 

“But no for you,” Anit noted. She’d figured out Dario’s little code by now, even reading upside-down. Someone needed to teach him better creation techniques. She raised her eyebrows at Khalila, who, to her surprise, pulled a grumpy face.

“There’s no way to say this without making myself sound unusual, right?” She wasn’t looking at Dario, but she was clearly addressing him, and he raised himself high on his knees to respond.

“You _are_ unusual, my ray of sunshine. We’re all equally weird. That’s why we’re here.” 

“That’s not helpful.” A petulant tone, now. Anit watched, amused again by their interplay even when Dario was on his knees. 

She’d seen dynamics like this before with other couples, but always on-show, on their best behaviour, the most obedience and the tightest control. This was just … Khalila and Dario being Khalila and Dario. 

“Right, so …” Khalila tapped her pen on the side of her desk and bit her lip. “Some of it is just that I do quite enjoy being clothed when the other person isn’t. And I don’t always want to bother with being touched if I’m trying to focus on you.”

Anit nodded. That second bit blew her mind a little for how unusual it was in her experience, but, well … having Khalila’s undivided attention was pretty much the dream right?

“And then. So.” Khalila sighed. “I don’t tend to find myself sexually attracted to people unless I’ve known them very well for a while. As in, ranging from four months to two years to who knows, probably never, kind of ‘a while’.”

Anit went cold and then hot inside. “So you’re not attracted to me?”

_ What was this, then? Some kind of pity-party? A favour? _

Her alarm must have shown on her face, because Khalila’s eyes widened. “It’s complicated, but … functionally, yes I am?”

“But you just said –“

“You’re gorgeous.” Khalila’s blunt tone cut Anit off. “I can appreciate that. Visually. Tactilely. And the act of taking control is appealing in an entirely different way. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. If I didn’t get something - significant out of it.” She was gabbling by the end. Her brown eyes bored into Anit earnestly. 

Anit noticed that Khalila had dropped one hand to her side and that Dario had shifted positions, as if they were holding hands under the desk. That soothed her hurt pride a little. This wasn’t some kind of joke. They were worried about how she was taking this – as if they cared about the result.

Plus her brain was repeating Khalila saying “Tactilely,” and the craving to be touched wasn’t helping her concentrate on complicated thoughts.

She let out a quick breath. “Ok. I don’t really understand the whole concept, but I suppose as long as you get something out of it too, that’s all right.”

Khalila’s tight shoulders lowered, and she smiled and continued on down the list.

The next few items passed uneventfully. No to anything in public. Ever. But yes to  _ pretending _ to be in public.

Khalila had grinned broadly at that, just for a moment, and Anit’s heart had done a funny half-painful jump.

* * *

 

“No to chastity, but yes to edging.” Khalila drew a wiggly line under edging. “How long for?”

Anit shrugged. She wasn’t particularly bothered. She had better things to be thinking about right now. “It gets better the more you do it, right?”

Dario’s head suddenly popped up, his eyes wide and intent. His fingers clasped the edge of the desk in front of him. “For God’s sake, Anit, give her a time limit.”

Khalila grinned widely. “You enjoyed it last time.”

“Did I? I don’t remember. I’d stopped being able to think.” He glared at her, but it was fond. 

“Shut up, darling, this isn’t about you.” Khalila returned her attention to Anit with a sly smile. “You’d better think of a time limit, then, and let me know later. Or we could experiment.”

_ What, now? _ The ache between Anit’s legs redoubled, and she couldn’t help squeezing her thighs together.  _ Don’t be stupid. Concentrate _ . 

A long history of being her father’s messenger meant that she tended to memorise any text she looked at for more than a few moments, and in definitely the strangest usage of that talent yet, it meant that she knew what section of the form was next. 

That did not help her arousal problem.

“So. You’ve ticked pretty much everything on offer in the impact play section.” 

“Um. Yes.” Anit squirmed for a second, then gathered herself to examine the odd look on Khalila’s face. “Is that an issue?”

“Not really.” Khalla shuffled the papers into perfect alignment, which was possibly the most obvious nervous tic Anit had ever seen. 

“Not really but?” she prompted. 

“Dario likes most of this to some degree too, so that’s fine. I’ll have to brush up on whips. And harder masochism in general.”

Anit waited a second. There was still no substantial ‘but’ to that bit of nervous babble. And she hadn’t missed Dario putting his hand on Khalila’s knee. 

She tweaked Khalila’s pen out of her loosened grip and poked her forearm with it. 

“Come on. Spill.”

Irritation flashed over Khalila’s face for a moment, but it melted into a laugh. 

“All right. It’s just these, that’s all.” She stretched out her hands across the desk, palms up. 

Now, Anit knew Khalila had hand injuries. Several times she’d seen her flexing her hands after a prolonged period of writing, and when Khalila had grabbed her hand earlier she’d felt the different textures. But it was different seeing it in close-up like this. 

Both palms were criss-crossed with raised reddish scars, but one was worse than the other. One thick line in particular trailed from the webbing of her thumb down to the underside of her wrist, and seemed to draw the surrounding dry, discoloured skin towards it like a snag in fabric. 

Though Khalila was visibly holding it straight, Anit could tell that that thumb’s comfortable resting position was pulled sideways into the palm.

“I was burnt a few times while we were on the run. They didn’t heal well.” Khalila said, in a voice of such forced nonchalance that it hurt to listen to. 

Anit knew Greek Fire burns when she saw them. Had experienced a touch of it herself one day when she was thirteen, when the High Garda had unexpectedly raided a stash-point. Sympathy flooded her, but she fought to keep it hidden. If Khalila was that reluctant to talk about this, she’d definitely be hypersensitive to anything that might resemble pity. 

“Right, this is relevant to the impact play,” she said instead, prompting a return to topic. Khalila audibly let out a breath and folded her hands in front of her again. 

“Yes. This hand,” she wiggled the fingers on the worse burnt one, “is also my dominant hand. Sometimes when it gets bad, or when I know I’ll be doing a lot of writing over the next week, I won’t be able to do most types of impact play. It’s a grip thing. And then … spanking. I know you like that. Dario’s circled that in gold.”

So he had. 

Anit nodded. She’d broken her pen nib on the original document there. She might have been a little overexcited by that point. A bit like she was now.

Shit, what were they talking about again? She gave herself a good mental slap. Right. Hands. Relating to spanking.

“Let me guess, no direct hand contact? Just tools?”

Khalila inclined her head. Her eyes were worried. “Some hand contact! Just not … prolonged.” She looked visibly anxious that this might be some kind of deal-breaker for Anit. Dario had propped his chin on Khalila’s knee and was watching both of them intently. Protectively. 

“That could be fun.” Anit chose her words very, very carefully. A niggling headache had started in her temple from the sheer tension of this conversation, but she wasn’t about to blow it now. “Start and finish a spanking with a couple of hand strikes. Personal touch. Good, um, signalling.”

She’d trailed off a bit towards the end there because she was imagining Khalila’s hand on her arse so much that she could almost feel it. She shifted in her seat. There was no such thing as a comfortable position anymore.

Khalila had definitely seen her. Her expression shifted rapidly from relieved to satisfied.

“Personal touch. I like that concept.” She tapped the desk gently with her fingertips, one at a time, as if she was turning something over in her mind. “Well. I think that’s everything. All of the talking, anyway.” Her smile was bright but her eyes were dark, and Anit shivered.

However, that wasn’t everything. It really wasn’t.

“You forgot the last question.” She folded her arms and adopted a self-satisfied, nit-picking tone. 

Khalila frowned. Her eyes flickered for a second, not to the papers in front of her but to Dario, who was looking at Anit and smirking. “Dario. I don’t like surprises.” Her voice lashed out like a whip. 

“Hey,” Anit protested. “It’s not his fault. That last question wasn’t detailed enough.”

“Then you should have given enough detail in your answer.” Khalila’s tone was dismissive. Anit shouldn’t find that hot. Oops.

Khalila propped her chin on her hand. “The last question was about whether you preferred to give away or to receive control of these sorts of situations. I put it last on the list because I considered it a given.” 

Anit rolled her eyes at that, but she knew what Khalila meant. Only an idiot would come to Khalila expecting her to hand over control of any area of her life.

Khalila ran her other hand along the line of her headscarf. “What else is there to say?” She appeared genuinely curious. “You can find someone to hit you anywhere, I’m sure. People better at it than me, too. I can recommend several. Or do you want something joint with Dario? That can be arranged.”

“No.” Anit shook her head for extra emphasis. Her words came out in quick, nervous bursts. “No, I want you. As you. Just not quite like you are with Dario. Because I’m not Dario. Not as … obedient.” 

Khalila leaned forwards. Behind her, Dario knelt a little higher to watch with a wide grin on his face, almost vibrating with excitement. He knew what she was talking about. 

“I wouldn’t expect full obedience to begin with, anyway.” Khalila tilted her head. 

Anit didn’t respond to the offered olive branch. 

“So, are you saying you wouldn’t kneel, for example?”

“You’ll have to work for it.” Anit’s heart was pounding. “I like …  _ earning _ a spanking. You know. By being …” Her entire face felt like it was on fire but, fuck it, they’d already gone over the roleplay section: “Naughty.”

Khalila beamed. “I see.” She turned to Dario and kissed his cheek. “You brought me a challenge. Thank you, darling.” She turned back to Anit, and clapped her hands sharply together like an excited child. “So if I told you to stand up?”

Anit raised her eyebrows and gestured for Khalila to do so. Khalila’s eyes narrowed.

“Get up.”

“What’s the magic word?” Anit sang out. 

“In which culture?” Khalila shot back. Anit rolled her eyes so hard that her vision went a bit weird. What a weasel answer.

“Ask me nicely.” She put her feet up on the desk, and caught her breath as Khalila stood.

“Be precise with your words, Anit.” Khalila prowled around the desk. There was no better word for it. Prowling. Like a tiny deadly desert cat.

“I could say the same about you,” Anit said. But she could hear the breathlessness in her own voice. She’d been too wound up for too long to mount a true resistance tonight. She’d always been a short-term gratification sort of girl. 

“Very well. Get up, to your feet, from the chair you’re currently sitting in, right now.” Khalila propped her hip against the desk. They were less than a foot apart. Anit could faintly detect a pleasant floral perfume, still clinging to Khalila at the end of the day. 

She swallowed and looked determinedly forwards, at Khalila’s empty chair. “That’s still not asking nicely.”

“I could be nice.” Khalila’s fingers touched the back of Anit’s hand. Her voice dropped to a gentle whisper. Every single nerve in Anit’s body seemed to cross-wire to that exact spot on her hand. “But it’s difficult to be nice from this position.” She dragged her fingertips up Anit’s arm to her shoulder. 

Her  _ bare  _ shoulder. 

Why had she decided to have so much skin on show tonight? Every inch of it felt linked to her throbbing clit.

“All you have to do is stand up.” Khalila’s hand moved over Anit’s collarbone and for a second, a single soft tantalising second, closed loosely around her throat. “You’re making this ever so difficult for yourself.”

“It’s a gift of mine,” Anit croaked. 

“I can see that.” Khalila’s fingers lightly traced the low-cut line of Anit’s blouse, caressing the swell of her chest. 

Anit groaned. This was excruciating. It was also cheating. Khalila wasn’t winning in the right way. Anit was going to push so much harder next time.

Next time. When she wasn’t about three seconds away from orgasm.

“All right. All right. Fine. You fucking cheat.” She shoved the chair back and got to her feet. 

“There we go,” Khalila said. 

There was a ‘good girl’ hidden in there, Anit could hear it, but, fair enough, she’d hardly earned it yet. 

Her entire body felt hot and loose and damp. She shuddered all over and let her eyes slide shut as Khalila’s hand landed firmly in the small of her back. 

Which meant she was completely unprepared for Khalila to slam her upper body down onto the desk and kick her legs forward into an unstable, abdomen-straining position.

* * *

 

Whited-out by the moment of impact, her brain kicked back in on auto-pilot and braced her arms to try and free herself. There was a small knife in her left pocket, she just needed to -

“Ssh. You’re all right.” Khalila kissed the back of her neck, and she came back to herself. 

“Shit!” Renewed arousal raced through her in a warm wave and she went limp. Her face was pressed down against the desk, cheek squashed flat, and all she could see was bookshelves. 

You’re in Khalila’s office, her mind helpfully reminded her with another throb from between her legs. Bent double over her desk.

“Sorry. Did I take you by surprise?” Khalila gloated.

“You bitch.”

Khalila laughed. “That’s quite enough of that language, now.” She caressed Anit’s arse, and Anit couldn’t stop herself groaning and pushing backwards. 

“Come on,” she said through gritted teeth. 

“Now who needs to ask nicely?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Please.” The polished wood of the desk was cool against her cheek. “ _ Please _ .” Shaky. Needy. Cringey. Ugh.

“That’s a good girl.” Khalila fumbled with the fastenings on the front of Anit’s trousers, and Anit breathed in and out, long and slow, and relaxed her body, because by all the gods if she’d tensed and pushed against the pressure from Khalila’s hand just then, she’d have been gone. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

She nodded. Tried to keep breathing evenly as Khalila struggled to pull her trousers down over her arse.

“What is it with you both and these tight leathers?” she mumbled, half to herself. 

“Giving you something to look at, my lady.” Dario’s tone was amused and dry, but he couldn’t quite hide his own breathlessness. Enjoying watching. 

Because Anit needed more things to turn her on, clearly. 

“That it does. You do both have fabulous bottoms. You’d better be keeping your hands behind your back, darling.”

“Fuck. I am. This is definitely the best idea I’ve had in ages.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Anit mumbled. She couldn’t quite bring herself to raise her voice so he could hear, not with cool air now brushing her arse, but Khalila heard and laughed softly. 

“Oh, you’re going to be fun, my dear.”

_ Slap! _

It was much harder than Anit had anticipated, given Khalila’s stature and all that fuss about her hand, and came without warning. It drove the breath out of her. She didn’t have anywhere to go; Khalila had tucked her hips in hard against the desk when she’d positioned her. 

“Good?”

Anit waved one hand weakly. That was about all she had the brain space for.

“That’s not very helpful. Tap the table once for pause, twice for stop. I’ll be watching.” 

Anit nodded to show she’d heard. 

_ Slap _ . Again, the impact, the slight sting, fading into warmth. As if she needed more warmth. The sensation wasn’t painful enough to sink into, just enough to tease. To tantalise. 

By the seventh impact she’d half lost her head. Not floating free but buzzing frantically, trapped inside herself and helpless to find a way out on her own.

Again, that stupidly clever positioning; there was nothing pressing against her front at all. Every time she tilted her hips to try and get relief from the rim of the desk, Khalila would pull them back. Apart from that correction and the brief kiss on her neck earlier, there was no touching at all. Just the steady swing of Khalila’s hand.

If she didn’t come soon she was going to snap. 

And that was ridiculous and vaguely humiliating if she could spare the brain space to consider it; she’d easily, contemptuously, taken triple this number of hits from all sorts of whips and paddles before, and yet here she was, undone by only seven quite gentle smacks.

She tapped the desk once. 

“Are you all right?” Khalila rested her hand lightly on Anit’s arse. Anit felt the tips of Khalila’s nails brush her skin and groaned loudly at the mere thought of a good hard scrape along her warmed cheeks. 

“Please.” She could barely catch her breath enough for speech. “Please make me come. Khalila. Miss. Mistress. Please.” 

“Well. Someone’s being very polite all of a sudden.” Khalila slid her hand down Anit’s arse and under and up -

\- and there was no finesse, oh gods no, no chance for Khalila to show off here; the second that Anit felt something come into contact with her clit she shoved her hips up to trap it there between herself and the desk and ground against it and cried out like an animal as the pent-up tension caught aflame. 

Khalila grabbed her around her stomach and hauled her backwards, but she didn’t care because Khalila’s hand was still pressed against her clit and every minute wriggle felt like lighting a match throughout her whole crotch and down into her thighs and she didn’t think Khalila was actually _trying_ to roll one orgasm straight into the next but it was fucking _working_ and she’d given up on breathing a long time ago, and _fuck_. 

“Oh, fuck,” she repeated, once that next wave had rolled over her and spat her out again. Her voice was a tiny whisper. Her mouth was dry and sticky from panting, and she’d drooled on Khalila’s desk.

“That’ll do.” Khalila tucked some of Anit’s hair behind her ear, which was when Anit realised that she was dripping with sweat. Just to add to … everything. 

“Hey, no, I’m not done.” It was a panting, petulant, spur of the moment complaint born from reflexive contrariness and she wasn’t that surprised when Khalila merely laughed and said,

“Yes, you are.” 

“No,” she complained with a whine in her voice. She let Khalila manoeuvre her back into her trousers, and lean her back more comfortably on the chair. Sitting was an experience. Her arse burned, and her whole cunt was swollen and sensitive. 

“Drinks, Dario. And a towel.”

Her hands quivered when she accepted the cup and damp cloth from Dario. 

She couldn’t help but flick a glance down at his erection. If she hadn’t been feeling like a wrung-out washcloth herself, she’d have loved to play with that. 

She sought his gaze on the way back up his body. It was dark and molten. 

“Having fun?” she whispered, under the cover of wiping her face and neck.

“Not quite as much as you.” His eyes rolled shut as Khalila reached over to squeeze the back of his neck.

“I won’t make you wait much longer, darling.”

He let out a wobbly little groan. “Thank you, my lady.”

Anit was distracted from the couple’s cuteness by Khalila’s hand. The knuckles and wristbone were visibly chafed. 

Oh shit. The desk. That was why Khalila had pulled her away.

She was too post-orgasmic for real fear, but her blood went cold anyway.

“I’m - your hand - I didn’t -”

Khalila reached over and put her finger on Anit’s lips. 

_ Don’t bite, _ she screamed at herself. _ Don’t you fucking dare bite that finger, Anit, even though you usually would do to anyone who dared hush you like that. Not here. Not now. Not her. _

“It’s fine.” Khalila’s eyes darkened. “I won’t let you do it again.” She took her finger away and stared at Anit for several seconds, as if she could hear all the rude responses queuing up to respond in her head.

Anit sipped her water instead of responding. It was ice-cold. Cooled everything down. She knew for certain that her quick tongue was the only part of her still fit to challenge Khalila and she didn’t want to start something that she’d lose immediately. 

For now.  

Khalila and Dario returned to their seats, and they all drank in silence for a few minutes. Anit spent a lot of that time bringing herself back down to earth by silently bemoaning how much sweat and juices had sunk into her leather trousers. They’d need a very careful wash. 

Khalila and Dario probably had people for that sort of thing.

“All right?” Khalila’s soft question brought her attention back to the room. 

She nodded. “Yes. That was … not at all what I thought would happen. But it was great.” She couldn’t stop herself from grinning.

“So you’re happy with the idea of a next time? I didn’t scare you away?”

Anit scoffed. “I’m going to push you harder next time.” She stuck her tongue out. “You just took me by surprise.”

Khalila grinned too. “You took me by surprise, too. Maybe I’ll make you come harder next time.”

Anit lost the ability to swallow for a second and nearly spat water all over the desk. “Is that an either or proposition?” she teased, once she’d wiped a dribble from her mouth.

“We can discuss that next time.” Khalila stroked Dario’s head absentmindedly. It felt like an accidental dismissal, a shifting of her attention. 

That was fair. 

“I like our discussions.” With that coy response, she stood up. Ew, her trousers really were a swamp.

She bowed a little deeper than she usually would, and took her leave.

**Author's Note:**

> In case it's not clear, in this verse I headcanon Khalila as demisexual.  
> And in anything I ever write, any verse whatsoever, she has hand problems from the two Greek Fire burns she's sustained so for. 
> 
> Feel free to come and check out my tumblr at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thegreatlibraryfangirl


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